The Odds
by alexgmich
Summary: It's funny how one phone call can drastically change the lives of two completely different people.
1. Brief Introductions

Leonora picked up the telephone with her perfectly manicured hand and dialed the ten-digit phone number on the piece of crumpled lined paper she was given so many months ago. It was only until now that she could muster up the courage to save her life and protect her sons.

Oh, how she wished she could go back to a simpler time, like when they were first married and loved each other unconditionally. Now, the buxom woman in her form-fitting signature blue dress wished she never uttered the words iI do./i Mascara is now staining her face and tears black as she waits to the sound of a monotone hum indicating that the other line is ringing.

She glances at the clock—almost six, she thinks to herself. Knowing that he will be home soon puts her on more of an edge than when she began to punch in the numbers. Someone on the other end picks up and the bland noise stops.

"'ello?"

She pauses before answering. "Y-yes. My name is Leonora—Leonora Grant. I-I heard that you were someone that would be able t-to… ihelp/i me."

"And wot kind of 'elp are we talking about, miss?" An Australian accent is spread thickly over his words.

"I'm gonna cut to the chase because I don't have m-much time—I know you're a bounty hunter and I'm in need of your services," the woman says curtly. A long silence greets Leonora, making her uneasy. Was this the right number? Had she been too cross?

"Well, you'd be right, ma'am. Now, who am I goin' after? I'm gonna need details."

Suddenly the sound of a key being rammed into the front door's lock is heard and the woman's blue eyes grow wide.

"Ma'am?" the man on the other line asks.

"H-he's home. I'll have to meet you somewhere so we can talk about it in person," her voice begins to quiver, her heart begins to race. "How about Dina's Café, tomorrow at noon in Boston."

"Sounds good, see you th—" She hangs up before he can finalize their deal fully.

A very drunk Mr. Grant stumbles through the doorway, the usual crazed glint in his eye. "You bitch, who we you just on the phone with? And don't fuckin' lie to me!" The scent of alcohol and tension is strong in the air.

"N-no one, dear. Just one of my girlfriends," Leonora reassures her husband. He takes several long strides towards her and takes a fistful of her jet black hair. She wants to scream, but swallows the urge so she doesn't wake up the slumbering boys just a floor above her. Taking the woman's face in his hands he whispers, "That better be the truth, or you know what's gonna happen, sweetheart."


	2. A Deal is Made

Chapter Two

Driving down the poorly paved road, Asher really notices how different his country is from the United States—especially the part of town that he is now making his way through. Garbage sprinkles the concrete and graffiti covers the buildings in a multicolored veil. The people seem to be just as dirty as their surroundings; the assassin spots several shady characters possibly making drug deals in alleyways between the tall buildings that line cracked sidewalks. He arrives at the address ten minutes early. Dina's Café looks out of place, as if it would be swallowed up by the brick apartments on either side of it.

The bell attached to the wooden door makes a small iclink!/i when Asher enters the run-down coffee shop. He pauses at the fading welcoming mat to observe the poorly lit establishment. It's quaint, he supposes, and nowhere to be making a deal over someone's life. Speaking of life, not a single person is there; considering the time of day it should be heavily populated, yet all the seats are empty. He decides on a corner booth facing towards the door so he can see when his customer arrives.

A half an hour passes, the waitress comes and goes, coffee is consumed and the watch on the assassin's wrist is checked every ten minutes or so. "M'pretty sure the dame said noon," Asher mumbles to himself, doubting the words he swore he heard over the phone. Another iclink!/i is heard and the assassin lifts his head towards the door to see a voluptuous woman step into the café. She's a head shorter than Asher, jet black hair pulled back with a blue headband that matches perfectly with her dress. Quite a looker, if he did say so himself. It seemed that with every step, her curvy hips gyrated with the beat of "Oh, Darling" softly thumping through the speakers mounted to the walls. They made eye contact.

Leonora swiftly approached the booth and sat across from him, finally severing their captured stares. One final observatory glance behind her confirms that yes, they are the only two seated. She leans forward in her seat, body nearly on the table. "You're ihim/i, right?" Her lips barely move.

Asher pulls his glasses down his nose. "Well, it depends on who ihe/i is, ma'am. If yer lookin' for a good time, then 'm not yer man," he chuckles at his own joke but it's cut short by the woman's pointed look. It seems that lightheartedness was inot/i on her agenda. An awkward cough passes through the man's thin lips and he continues, "Well, if yer the woman who called earlier then yes, 'm him. You can call me Asher." He tips the Trophy Belt hat atop his black hair as a polite gesture.

"I'm Leonora," the woman replies. She starts biting on her chipping white-painted nails but Asher stops her with his hand. "'m gonna need t' know why ye' wan' 'im dead," he said rather bluntly, knowing that she's probably very nervous about coming and wants to get it over with.

She takes a long, shaky breath and another long look behind her. "It all started a lil' after Ethan—my youngest—was born… six years ago. The first few years were great, iwe/i were great," she paused and suddenly had a great fascination with her hands, trying to put together what she was about to say next. "But then he got a great deal with a big club in NYC, he's in advertisement for some big alcohol brand. Got invited to the grand opening, you see… that's when he started with the drinking." Another look at her hands made her register how much she was shaking.

"H-he came back from the party completely wasted. It was the first time I've ever seen 'im like that. I was in Ethan's room puttin' 'im to sleep when he barges through the door smellin' like a mini bar… grabs my arm and ipulls/i me and my boy into our bedroom… He pushes Ethan outta my hands a-and… and—" Choking back the sobs didn't cut it anymore—she broke down. Remembering that night still gave her nightmares—Ethan falling to the ground and crying, Leonora fighting and screaming at her husband…

"'Salright, miss," Asher whispered as he stroked the woman's head that was currently buried in the crook of her elbow. "Now, you're gonna need t'tell me when and where this is gonna be happenin', don' leave any detail out."

"I'mma get it! I'mma get it!"

"No you won't, shrimp! Ya like four feet tall and that tree's like a million feet taller than ya," RJ explained, pointing at said tree with his catcher's mitt and a roll of his eyes. Ethan cheeks turned red and he stuck out his tongue towards his older brother.

"Says you! I'm good at climbin' trees, even Ma says so!"

"Prove it, short stack!"

"iFine!/i" Ethan yelled from mid-way up the tree. iThis is easy, RJ's such a chump-/i

"Ow, quit throwin' stuff at me!" the younger whined when a third acorn was pelted at his back.

"Raymond! What'd I tell you about torturing your brother?" a deeper voice called from the porch, "and Ethan, get down from there, you're gonna fall and bust your ass."

"S-sorry sir," the two brothers apologized in unison and avoided eye contact with their stricter parent. Even though the five-year-old knew he wouldn't "bust his ass", he came down cautiously to avoid being subject to more scorning from his father. RJ offered to run inside to get another ball so Ethan wandered up the porch steps.

"Dad?" No answer. The screen door into the house was wide open, something that would've peeved his father to no end. The little boy began to search the house, worry creasing his brow further for every time he found a room empty. Then he heard a noise—a noise that his dad wouldn't make in a lifetime. It clearly was coming from the house's master bedroom and the closer he got, the louder the sound became. Childish curiosity took over as Ethan slowly and quietly cracked open the door.


	3. Recognition

In an undisclosed desert, the roaring of a train pierces the still air. Waves of sand and dust pick up in the locomotive's wake and disturb wildlife along the tracks; lizards dart about and hares bolt from the slowing machine. There are only two instances in this unknown wasteland when a train could be heard chugging along. In this instance, it was for the arrival of fresh meat. Humans. Soldiers of the desert fighting for a war that has been waging for years with no end in sight.

On one side stood Reliable Excavation Demolition, more commonly known as RED. The other, Builders League United, or BLU. Each team had nine men, each with their own set of special abilities and strengths. Together these two sides made up Team Fortress Corp., where anyone who didn't belong anywhere else ended up. Men from around the world recruited by two teams in hopes of easy pay and a place to hang their hat. A week or two of "testing" was mandatory to see if you were bullshitting them about your skills. What they didn't bargain for was the searing pain that would build up behind their eyes until the feeling of being split open from the inside became so strong that you woke from the dead. Still in the testing stages, Respawn technology will do that to a guy. It would do a lot to even the strongest of people. These men came here thinking it would be easy—they were wrong.

The Australian had been on this train to bumblefuck nowhere for what seemed like days. He was tired and in serious need of some sort of caffeine and drugs to calm him down… it was all that made him calm nowadays. Attempting to kick that habit dissipated the minute—he didn't even want to think about it. The Australian had to get to 2Fort, the base he'd been stationed at, the base where he'd find what—iwho/i—he was looking for. The door to the next car slid open and a man in all black sauntered in. His face was all high cheekbones and distinct black eyes. Asher didn't think he'd be able to see the man's pupils even if they were standing nose to nose. Dark and wispy shoulder length hair shifted with the other man's carefree steps. He proceeded to sit in the seat adjacent to Asher and faced him, a smile playing on his features.

"Bonjour, camarade. Quel est votre nom?" Not knowing a lick of French, the Australian continued to stare blankly at the man. He caught onto the other's confusion and chuckled, "Pardon me; I forgot where I was for a second. I asked for your name."

"Everyone calls me Asher," the Australian said, "And yers?"

"Ah, zat I cannot tell you, my friend. For my job 'ere, I must keep my identity concealed—my apologies." The mysterious man crossed his legs and rested gloved hands on one knee. "So, what brings you 'ere?"

"Why would I answer questions that you can't be answerin' yerself?"

"Touché," the Spy replied. "Well, if you must know, my certain… iskills/i, 'ave been found valuable to ze Builder's League United. Yourself?"

"Well, I dunno 'bout special skills, but I can shoot a bird between th'eyes from across'a two Rugby fields."

The whistle blew before the man could comment and with that he stood. "I must be getting back to my luggage, see you on ze battle field, Sniper."

The RED Scout had woken up early this morning, as he had been for the past few days because of his newfound insomnia haunting him at night. Things kept swimming in his conscious mind that deprived him of the sleep he so desperately wanted. It was hard getting used to sleeping alone—sleeping without the one he cared about more than himself, which was a rare feat.

He heard the screech from the kitchen and knew what it meant. Even fresh out of training he began to realize that train symbolized the only connection to the outside world aside from the sparse letters from his Ma now and then. Liam rose from his place at the empty dining table to peek out a window facing the horizon. There was the train, slowly coming to a halt; two men step out, both indistinct due to the setting sun and the distance from train to base.

"Our new Sniper's here?" Engineer came through the kitchen's threshold, observing how Scout was straining to see outside.

"Yeah," Scout replied off-handedly, too busy attempting to make out the figures. It seemed that the two were shaking hands and walking towards their individual bases.

The PA system crackled until the booming voice of the Soldier burst through the speakers. "Attention: Everyone report to the debriefing room immediately! That's an order, privates!" Both men turned to each other, Scout rolling his eyes when Engineer said they should go. Liam shuffled out of the room to follow his comrade to the other room.\

"Ah, shit!"

An Australian accent echoed from the stairwell, making Scout's heart immediately jump to his throat. Did he dare see who was there? Liam cautiously walked towards the stairs and took a deep breath, exhaled through his nostrils, and turned the corner.

A very disgruntled bushman was struggling to juggle his duffle bag and sniper case, managing to drop the latter after the last step. All Liam could manage to say was, "A-Asher?"


	4. Skeletons in the Closet

The few days after his first encounter with Liam left him tense and emotionally exhausted. The strong and unbearable urge to just say "hello" to the boy overwhelmed Asher with feelings of adoration but at the same time, remorse. Whenever the man even caught a glimpse of his former lover, his heart swelled and his mind was flooded with past memories that now created an empty feeling in his chest. Alas, the longing glances were never reciprocated by the boy because of everything that had occurred; however, he couldn't blame Liam based on what he had done…

The boy had every right to be angered, and Asher knew this. It was unfortunate, how the one human being that made him the happiest now tormented him with guilt and a sense of suffering—suffering that was only experienced when someone has had a great loss, which the older man had encountered more than once before: None of those times could ever compare to this. On the other hand, he had never been able to tell Liam his side of the story. He didn't know the motive, the reasons, the truth.

Liam on the other hand, couldn't stand the man's presence, which was one of the reasons he landed in this God forsaken desert in the first place. He felt betrayed by the only person he felt safe with and the only person he trusted with all of his heart. Of course the boy missed the older man severely, but that he couldn't show. Giving the slightest hint that he needed Asher would crumble both of their resolve and bring them together again but no, Liam didn't want to go back to that after what he'd been put through because of the older man he used to call his lover…

The two men needed to talk—whether they wanted to or not, no matter what the outcome may be.

Liam had been untying his cleats when a knock reverberated through his wooden door. He checked the clock on his nightstand—12:37 AM. Another more urgent knock sounded.

"Hold on, Jesus," huffed the boy as he shuffled towards the door. If he knew who was on the other side, he would've just let them knock all night. Once he opened it, he immediately regretted the decision.

There stood the Sniper devoid of his signature sunglasses and brimmed hat. Liam stiffened, eyes wide at first, and then squinted with anger and disgust. "The fuck you want, you know what time it is asshole?"

"We gotta talk, boyo," replied Asher as pulled at his left earlobe. At that moment Liam knew the other man was nervous. Ever since they met, playing with his ear was a sign that he was in some sort of emotional distress; it was very evident to the boy that he was. He mumbled a small "whatever" and walked back into his room.

Breathing a sigh of relief, Asher entered the room with caution and closed the door behind him. "So? Ya gonna talk or what?" Scout crossed his arms and tapped his foot impatiently at the Sniper.

"Ye' gotta hear my side of the story, love—" was all the man got out before Liam lashed out, eyes like daggers piercing into Sniper's.

"Don't you fuckin' DARE call me 'love' you son of a bitch. I-I don't even know why you fuckin' came to my room, sayin' you need me to hear you out. Why in the god damn WORLD would I do that after… after…" Flashes of the day he found out replayed in his head.

It had been a year ago, a couple days before his 23rd birthday. During those happy times, Asher was able to crash on the couch and sneak into his room after his mother had retired to bed. It was risky, but both of them knew it was worth it to sidle up next to each other as they drifted off to sleep. Liam had gone to his room with the intention of preparing to take a shower when he stumbled upon Asher's briefcase on his bed. Forever curious, the boy had always wondered what said briefcase contained. Was it money, like in the movies? Or was it just a bunch of papers? Seemed pretty normal to Liam, but not knowing the contents of the bag drew him closer to it. He looked towards his door, back at the briefcase, then back at the door. Bolting towards the door, he flicked the lock and sped to the briefcase. Surprisingly it was unlocked—perfect. Carefully peeking into the case, he found a plethora of folders labeled with various names he didn't recognize. Interesting…

The boy had never been told what Asher's job consists of, only being told that it was something "professional and pertaining to his skills." What those skills were, he didn't know as well but let the man keep his secrets. Learning about those secrets when they were right in front of his face however… well, how could one resist? He flipped through the folders and plucked one out at random. The folder contained the general information of said person such as height, eye and hair color, sex, and age. Along with the description came a picture of the person in black and white, but that's when the Scout became puzzled. What confused him was the giant red stamp that read "TERMINATED" in bold across said picture. This one was a man, apparently age 45 with a large beard and wire rimmed glasses. He pulled out the next document in the folder that seemed to have notes scribbled down in his lover's handwriting:

Day 1 – Arrived at location X to meet with client and discuss day and time of termination.

Liam skipped down a couple of days…

Day 7 – Stationed approx. 4 yards away from subject. Clean shot to frontal lobe. Death: Instant.

Blue eyes grew wide, was Asher really…? He panicked and resumed looking through the folders, this time with much more urgency. No wonder the man never told him what he did, no wonder he was gone weeks, even months at a time… what if there was someone he knew? What if—

His thoughts stopped dead in their tracks when he saw the next folder's name: Maxwell Grant.


	5. Flashback

That day, everything he had been wondering since his father "moved away for a better job" clicked. The disposing of his father's clothes and belongings, his mother dodging the topic of when his father would "return"—it was all a ruse, completely fabricated and completely believable.

Liam didn't tell anyone that he knew for about two and a half weeks, yet he didn't act as if everything was fine. As the days went on, however, his lashing out and snippy attitude had progressively gotten worse. It came to a boiling point one night at dinner—he had invited Asher to eat over his house in order to tell them both off. It had been meticulously planned out beforehand, from working extra hours at the burger joint two blocks away for extra cash to stuffing a backpack with necessities such as clothing and various products to keep his hygiene intact.

The Scout hid said backpack in the bush next to his front door before dinner and proceeded to sit down at the dining room table. His mother, forever thoughtful, had made his favorite foods that night: chicken cutlets, mashed potatoes, and mixed vegetables. What a great last meal, Scout mused as he began eating. As he was nearly finished, he put his plan into action.

"So ma, have ya heard from dad lately?" Liam asked between forkfuls of his mashed potatoes.

"Not recently, the last time I did was about a week ago," she responded without missing a beat.

"I think I'm gonna call 'em tonight."

"I don't think that's a good idea honey. He told me he'd be flying off to California for a meeting all—"

Scout barked out a loud laugh, "Ya silly ma, dead people can't fly on no planes!" Silence and tension enveloped the room at the statement; Asher visibly stiffened, not meeting the younger man's eyes as he continued to eat.

"W-what do you mean, hun?" she stammered.

"Shit, ma, don't you fuckin' play dumb!" Liam shouted, palms slamming flat on the table as he rose to his feet; the chair he'd been sitting on tipped backwards onto the floor. His head violently turned to Asher, who still wasn't looking at him.

"And YOU, YOU SON OF A BITCH!" In a matter of seconds, Liam was straddling Asher, fist connecting with the man's face again and again. Hands latched on to the older man's throat squeezing and shaking with every ounce of strength he had.

"YOU KILLED HIM! YOU FUCKIN' KILLED MY DAD—I SAW YOUR FUCKIN' BRIEFCASE, I SAW HIS FUCKIN' FILE!" Asher began to choke and squirm, face turning purple. With one last bruising punch to the face that connected and broke the older man's nose, Liam did what he did best—he ran.

Liam snatched the hidden backpack quickly and sprinted down his block, around the corner, and into the bustling streets of his hometown. This is where his plan had become somewhat questionable: where would he stay? Not a friend's house certainly, their parents would tell his mother and she would drag him back to the house he would end up never returning to. Maybe he had enough money for that cheap hotel on the corner of Chestnut and Main Street? It was worth a try.

His pace became a swift jog when he arrived at the rundown motel. It was not the best choice of living arrangements but it would have to do. The sign overhead was slightly tilted, probably from old age and the rusting pole that held it up; the outer walls of the establishment were painted with graffiti, both old and new. The place itself was complete trash with its dusty windows and certain doors hanging almost completely off their hinges. Through all the disarray came the shining beacon of his salvation: the vacancy sign. Liam entered the main door cautiously to be greeted by a very intimidating individual. The man was all tattoos and muscle, neck almost non-existent with all the tendons framing it. Taking a deep breath, the younger man approached the front desk.

"Welcome to the Cozy Inn," the man said gruffly, "how can I help ya?"

"Uh, I need a room for a couple days," Liam replied, mildly scared of the giant man. All he got in response was a grunt and a key extended towards him.

"It's twenty five bucks a night, ya pay by the day." Liam fished through the smaller compartment of his bag and gave the man the money due. He was told he was room three; the younger man thanked him and sped out of the place.

He reached the cracked wood door in no time with the metal number "3" on top. The key was hard to turn, but with enough force he unlocked it with a loud "click" and stepped inside. The name of the establishment really did betray the appearance and feel of the room, for it was not "cozy" in the slightest. A small layer of dust covered every surface except the bed, which felt much harder than it looked, which Liam thought was impossible. The lamp had no shade while the ceiling light flickered every now and then; an attempt to turn on the television left him with a screen illuminated with black and white static accompanied by a loud buzzing noise.

"Damn, this place is worse than I thought," the younger man commented to himself, but he knew he would have to make the best of it.

The next day, he woke up with a sore back and a stiff neck from the uncomfortable bed. He sat up slowly to stretch, extending his arms into the air with a loud yawn. Liam wasn't hungry in the slightest even though it was around 11:30; he was still sickened from the information he had learned a few weeks before.

He stepped out the door; completely unprepared for the bright sunlight, he squinted and took three paces over the threshold only to step on something soft. Looking down he discovered one of the local newspapers. It was exactly what he needed—his stash of money would obviously dwindle to nothing at some point so finding a job would be crucial.

Liam stooped down to retrieve the newspaper and shuffled back into his temporary not-so-humble abode. Immediately after finding the "Help Wanted" section, his eyes were distracted by the bright blue and red advertisement found in the bottom right corner of said paper. It was small, but the colors made it stick out from the monotonous and boring black and white.

"HELP WANTED:

WILLING TO TRAVEL IN ORDER FOR FAST PAY? JOIN TEAM FORTRESS CORP. TODAY!

HIRING ALL APPLICANTS, TRAINING AND TRANSPORTATION PROVIDED.

IF INTERESTED, MEET AT THE BOSTON TRAIN STATION 1:00 PM ON TUESDAYS OR THURSDAYS"

When he finished reading, he stared at the newspaper deep in thought. This sounded so promising, but where would he be going? There were so many questions swirling in the boy's brain that couldn't be answered by this vaguely brief paragraph. He read it about four more times before looking at the clock and realized he'd been gawking at the newspaper for a half an hour. This seemed so sketchy, and completely unbelievable, but the capital letters spelling "hiring all applicants" had him packing his things and walking out the door. After playing with the sticky lock for a couple seconds, he locked the door and returned it to the gargantuan of a man. With a small thanks, he began his journey towards the train station. It wasn't too much of a hike, but arriving a little early may earn him answers to his important and crucial questions.

Liam arrived at the station about forty minutes early and looked for someone that would fit the description of the advertisement—the thing was he didn't know what that person would look like. His confusion was answered in the form of a tall man clad in what seemed like some kind of army uniform standing awkwardly on the platform. He wasn't sure that this was the man he was looking for, but it was worth a shot. The soldier was tall with broad shoulders and thick arms, but surely smaller and less beastly than the man who had given him the keys at the Cozy Inn. What the man was wearing was certainly out of the ordinary when it came to armed forces uniforms; it was bright red much like the color in the job advertisement and the helmet he wore was clearly too big considering you couldn't see his eyes in the slightest. Even though he might not be the man Liam was looking for, it was worth a try.

He timidly approached the man. "Hi, are you the guy that I'm s'posed ta look for? From the ad in the paper I mean," the future Scout asked cautiously, looking up in an attempt to meet the man's eyes under his giant helmet.

"AFFIRMATIVE!" Soldier boomed, saluting the younger man with a swift bend of his elbow. "FROM NOW ON, YOU ARE TO ADDRESS ME AS 'SIR'!" The blaring sound of a train horn was heard in the distance, slowly becoming louder as the locomotive came into view.

"GOOD JOB, PRIVATE: YOU MADE THE EARLIER TRAIN!"

"Now hold on a sec', uh, sir—I thought the train was s'posed ta be here in, like, half an hour!" The boy's eyes grew wide as the train chugged closer and closer to the station. He hadn't gained a bit of information, and now he was being tossed onto a train leading to God knows where? At last the train screeched to a halt and its doors slid open.

"GET READY, PRIVATE! SEE YOU WHEN YOU GET THERE FOR TRAINING!"

"Wait! But, but—" It was too late: the burly man shoved Liam through the threshold and the train's door closed. He swiveled around to see the door closing and the train moving from the platform. Panic and fear washed over him like a tidal wave.

Above the door was a bright red sign—"WELCOME TO RED".


End file.
